


Coming Home

by ratsmacabre



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:18:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratsmacabre/pseuds/ratsmacabre
Summary: It had been a long and lonely tour...





	Coming Home

He was off the tour bus and rushing towards the ornate front doors of the church before the engine had even shut off. He didn't care about his luggage or gear or the ghouls.    
  
He needed her.   
  
He stalked up and down the halls of the church, desperately looking for her. It had been a long tour. He had spent many lonely nights on the bus thinking about her and the way it felt to be buried deep inside her.    
  
He rounded a corner and froze. There she was. Her back was to him as she talked to another member of the church but he knew it was her. He had memorized every inch of her body. His hands had personally mapped out every peak and valley, every crevice, every fold. He knew her body better than his own and he wouldn't have it any other way.   
  
"Excuse us," he said, taking her elbow and leading her to his private quarters. He didn't care if it was rude. He had needs.   
  
"Hello, love," she greeted, struggling to keep up with the pace he had set. "What's the rush?"   
  
They arrived at his room and he quickly ushered her inside, slamming the heavy door behind them. He picked her up and pushed her against the door, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. She could feel his eagerness pressing firmly against the most intimate part of her. His lips found hers and his hunger washed over her in a scalding wave.    
  
She broke from the kiss. "Someone missed me," she teased.   
  
He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Maybe a little bit." His grin deceived his words.   
  
She wiggled her hips, grinding down on his firm cock. "Then fuck me like it."   
  
That was all the encouragement he needed. He carried her to the bed and practically threw her onto it. He ripped open his shirt, sending buttons tinkering to the floor, and discarded it before crawling onto the bed after her. He took a moment to look down at her form, her pale skin a stark contrast against the deep satin purple of the bedding. Satan, she was beautiful. He pulled her shoes off and tossed them over his shoulder followed by her jeans. She started to push her black panties down over her hips but he smacked her hands away.   
  
"No, no,  _ cara mio _ ," he said, admiring the way the lace looked against her skin. He lifted the hem of her shirt and placed soft kisses on her stomach as he exposed more and more skin, whispering between kisses.    
  
" _ Mi sei... _ "   
  
Kiss.    
  
" _...mancato... _ "   
  
Kiss.   
  
" _...tanto. _ "   
  
He pulled her shirt off over her head, his eyes settling on the bra that matched the panties. It was a gift from him before he left for tour. The fact that she wore it the day he came home drove him wild. He positioned himself between her thighs, the rough fabric of his dark pants causing enough friction to make her squirm. He pressed himself tighter to her, relishing the sweet noises that escaped her lips.   
  
"My love," she moaned. "Please..."   
  
He pulled away from her enough to slip out of his pants. "Please what?"   
  
She wrapped her fingers around the hard length of him and gave him a gentle squeeze. "You know what."   
  
He pinned her arms above her head and held her lower body still with his own. His entire body ached with the need to plunge himself deep inside her. His fingers flexed around her wrists. He lowered his face and spoke, his lips brushing against hers. " _ Dimme come ti piace scopare. _ "   
  
She struggled to free her arms but his grip held firm. Italian was her weakness and he was using it against her. "Fuck me, my love. Make me cum for you."   
  
He pushed her panties to the side and slid himself completely inside her, barely giving her any time to prepare. He paused to enjoy the feeling of her body wrapped so tightly around his, a feeling that had kept him awake for so many nights on the road. He shuddered and slowly drew himself out before slamming into her again. He began a grueling pace of deep strokes, in and out, each thrust drawing more and more moans from her mouth. It was sweet music to his ears. He was mumbling in Italian as his thrusts quickened, lost in the feeling of the woman beneath him. It felt like coming home.   
  
"Fuck, don’t stop, please!" she pleaded, her end rapidly approaching. Sweet Satan, she had missed him so much.   
  
He snuck a hand between their bodies, a deft thumb circling her sensitive clit as he fucked her. He loved making her body writhe under his almost as much as seeing the ecstasy he gave her painted on her face. He could always tell when she was about to cum.    
  
" _ Il mio tesoro _ ," he whispered. "Cum for your Papa."   
  
And she did. She screamed her pleasure for the entire church to hear. He followed soon behind her, thrusting one final time deep inside her, his seed spilling into the innermost part of her. He collapsed on top of her, their rapid breathing in sync. When the stars had cleared from his vision, he carefully withdrew himself from her body and curled up beside her. She held him close, her skin starved for his touch.    
  
" _ Ti amo, il mio fiore _ ," he said softly.   
  
"I love you, too," she replied.

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt from Tumblr about what a member of the clergy would do upon coming home from tour. Went with Papa III because in my head he always has one thing on his mind. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
